Lost Souls
by Seams
Summary: AU. Ian O'Shea is lost. He's lost his scholarship, his leg, and probably, his mind. But somehow, in his hopelessly tangled world, he comes across the strange and pleasant Wanderer. And suddenly, being lost isn't as bad as it seems. But here's the problem - she's not as 'human' as everybody thinks she is.
1. Looking Forward

**A/N:** Initially, this was going to be a story with original characters, about how the invasion came to be. The Host was a post-apocalyptic setting, so I was interested to write about what led to the end of the world. So, I'd just like to point out that there is more to look forward to other than the forbidden romance element. Anyway, I'm done talking. ENJOY!

**WARNING**: Ian's character starts out quite OOC because of his cynicism.

**DISCLAIMER: **Fandom's not miiiine.

* * *

CHAPTER 1  
**LOOKING FORWARD**

Some people are always saying that you shouldn't be dwelling in the past, nor should you be obsessing over looking into the future – what we should ideally be doing, is living in the _now_. When I look into the world, all I see is a big fat lie – without a vision of a future, the world would be static. Everyone's thinking of it, and those who aren't are too busy getting over the past.

Everyone needs something to look forward to. It's your will to live.

This morning, Kyle told me he was looking forward to seeing his girlfriend. I asked Brandt and he said he was having a sandwich and half a doughnut for lunch. He was looking forward to the doughnut. I asked Maggie at work, and she said she was looking forward to watching tonight's episode of _New Girl_. I asked Sharon and she said she was looking forward to ending our conversation.

When I asked them what they would do if their plans for the near future were dampered, they told me there was always a plan B.

So, where was mine?

_Note to self_, I thought. _Find something to look forward to._

That made me feel better. Now I was looking forward to looking forward to something. My life didn't seem as open ended and hopeless as it did two seconds ago.

"Ian?!" An excited female voice broke me from my reverie. "You didn't tell me you were in town!"

I hoped it wasn't her, but it turned out to be exactly who I hoped her not to be.

And I reached the depressing depths of hopelessness once more.

"Lily," I awkwardly uttered her name. "... Hi."

Her tone was the polar opposite of mine. "What are you doing here?"

I thought about what she said and couldn't understand whether she referred to my presence at the park – which was a public place – or in my hometown. I'd always thought she'd known I was here, but her surprise seemed to convey that she referred to the latter.

"I lost my scholarship," I explained, shrugging. I pointed to my slight limp.

"Oh, no. What happened?" I explained to her my stupid attempt at playing with a semi-broken leg. That was when my scholarship was on hold. After I'd gone out to the field, ready to charge the team with half of a whole leg, there was no helping me. My leg was gone. My leg, my scholarship, and my dream. The rug pulled from underneath me, because of a stupid _stupid _mistake.

She looked sad to hear this, but in her head I bet she felt better already. _Boy, I sure am glad I'm not that guy_. Then I stopped and thought, _when did I become this cynical?_

"That's just awful – what about financial aid? Student loans?"

"Not qualified," I answered blithely. "I'm sticking around here, making what I can."

"You could always ask your parents."

"_Hell_, no._" _I didn't bother explaining that they had no idea.

She didn't look pleased by this. Did she not like me sticking around town? "So, how long are you staying here for?"

"A year. Maybe more. As long as it takes to make enough money to get back and finish school."

"That's incredible." Definitely not pleased.

"Yep." I said, adding a faux grin. "A withdrawn scholarship a term before I graduate. Incredible. Really."

"Ian, I didn't mean – listen. I was meaning to call you, but it's great we ran into each other. I have to talk to you."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

"About something important."

_Please don't say you want to get back together with me. Please._

I was hesitant to hear it. "Oh... kay?"

She sucked in a deep breath. "I'm getting married."

Well, that was unexpected. Somehow, this terrified me, even though I never had any genuine feelings for her. She was fun, and pretty. She lacked that additional hook that intriguing relationships required. That feeling was probably mutual. I've been looking in the mirror for a while, and I see no hook to me at all.

We weren't particularly romantically fond of each other – yet, this news scared me to my core.

I asked her about the guy.

"I think you've met Wes before, right?"

She was right, I did meet him last year – and he looked about 14 to me. He could have been her little brother, or even her kid for all I knew. Momentarily, I wondered if this was legal.

"He's really mature, now. I wish you could meet him."

Apparently, he had a crazy growth spurt before he turned 18. Regardless, he was way younger compared to Lily's 33 years of living. But I suppose I understand it. He's dating an older babe and she's dating a younger guy. I could easily see the hook.

_Note to self_, I thought. _Find a hook._

Now I could look forward to that as well – I was on fire today. I told Doc all this, and he thought I was seriously progressing.

"That's a great idea, if you ask me," Doc started saying, notebook and pen in hand. "That oughta wash away the remainder of your self-deprecation."

I laid back in to the couch and shook my head. "I don't really think so."

"Why not?"

"Well – what if my hook turns out to be useless and really lame?"

"It's not a hook unless it's interesting, is it? A hook is a good thing."

"Yeah, well, what if people can't appreciate my hook?"

"Of course people will appreciate it, that's what a hook is for."

"Are you sure we're following the same connotation for 'hook'?'"

This went on for several more minutes until Doc got fed up of me.

"Want some Prozac?" he finally offered. I took some to make him happy, and flushed the rest down the toilet.

I admired him for his patience – Doc was definitely never meant to be a shrink. He was always a surgeon, until he made a stupid mistake and a patient died. He went all screwy and got a Psychology degree, so now, he's officially sucked at two professions. My observation of Doc has proved people are right when they say people who deal with crazy people go crazy themselves – and that's for two reasons.

Doc was giving me therapy for free, and he was dating Sharon Stryder.

Even with my financially screwed up state, Doc was not much better off than me. I think we all know you don't treat your only client - friends or not - for free.

And if I start with Sharon, I don't think I can stop. She's a nut just like the rest of her family – probably a more annoying kind of nut. That's the worst kind of a nut there is.

The rest of the day, I spent with Andy and Paige. I know I dislike thirdwheeling, but I preferred it to sitting in my room and doing Origami, like Doc suggested. We sat there in the bar, trying to discern my hook.

"You're a good looking guy," Andy tried to console me. "I don't know what you're worried about."

"Good," I pointed out. "But not great."

To make my point, I compared myself to Jared Howe, the town heartthrob. I did not have his tanned skin, nor the smile lines around his eyes, that the girls at school used to describe were "to die for". We had the same build, and I may have been a little taller, but regardless. He was a glowing, golden creature with a Roman godlike aura. Next to him, I would never be good looking enough.

"You have a great personality," Paige offered.

"That's a really vague hook. What about my personality?"

"Well, you... um. You're really... thoughtful."

The two of us men met her gaze, and sat in silence, thinking. Then the three of us shook our heads and said, "Naw." I was too much of an self-loathing downer right now to have a good personality.

"You're at the optimum age," Andy told me. "You're free to date anyone, and do anything, and live life, and be young."

"Lily told me age is just a number."

If the sun was out, I would probably be looking at the raincloud far ahead. If flowers would bloom, I would be counting the seconds until they died. There was no helping me. I had known from the start that voicing my insecurities was a bad idea. If I had asked them a month ago, the first thing they would have mentioned was Soccer and my Ivy League education. Well, that's another thing to add to the list of losses. Leg, scholarship, soccer, and my hook.

Kyle said I needed a hobby.  
I told him I did. I'd just lost it.

"What about that book you were writing?"

"Oh, that."

Publishing it was to be my primary source of income.  
Before I could publish it though, I had to start.  
Starting.  
Definitely not something I looked forward to.


	2. The Stryders

CHAPTER 2  
**THE STRYDERS**

A month after obsessively loathing myself, the worst had passed.

The town had also become accustomed to my presence. I didn't get caught into conversations like _-_

_Ian! You're back in town!_

_Yep._

_Have you graduated already?!_

_Nope._

_Oh. Are you here on your break then?_

_Nope._

_So, what are you doing here?_

_I ask myself the same thing._

… _Why are you limping?_

In the beginning I'd get angry when people made a big deal out of my homecoming. But then I remembered that my leaving was no less of a big deal. I remembered the time when Mom and Dad still used to live here, and I'd just finished high school and gotten my acceptance letter and somehow the whole town shared my euphoria. Our fridge was never empty of pie and everywhere around the porch were flowers with a _Congratulations! _Card.

I was the only kid from here who managed to leave the state, and now here I was. Back again, cutting other people's grass, attempting a novel and wallowing in my misery. People would look at me and feel proud – now, people would look at me and run the other direction.

They said my depression was contagious.

Doc liked to say I was "getting better", to provide encouragement, but my life felt just as stagnant as it did a month back. The difference was I was used to it – it didn't mean I liked it.

But he'd been a big help – he'd gotten nutjob Sharon to get me a proper job with her equally nutjobby Momma, Maggie. I'd been doing chores for her regularly, but now she let me do more important things like bookkeeping and helping out at the reception in her piano class.

But he could do nothing about the home situation. Kyle, as always, was a nightmare to live with, and it worsened since Jodi left for Portland to visit Doris. She wasn't getting back anytime soon either, so that meant he spent more time at home.

Drinking.

_All _the time.

And the next morning, he always regretted it. At least I made him.

Like I had this morning.

"Kyle!" I yelled, loud enough to ruin his sleep. "If you pissed on the sink again, I will end you."

The bathroom smelled horrid. If I had to describe it, I would gag. I held my breath and snatched my toothbrush out of there, making my way towards the kitchen to grab a jug of water.

I didn't knock on his door, or bother being stealthy. I barged it and poured it where it belonged.

All over his face.

He spat and choked like he'd survived a storm in the sea, and immediately sat up.

"Asshole!" he shouted through clenched teeth. "I asked you to stop doing that!"

"I asked you to pee where you're meant to pee."

"And I asked you to stop being so loud when I have a hangover."He looked around his room, squinting his eyes at the sunlight peeking through the curtains. "What time is it, buttface?"

"Eight thirty."

"Eight thirty – _eight thirty_! What the hell are you doing in my bedroom, _now?_

"I'm making you clean your piss off the sink."

I couldn't make him do it. I couldn't shower either because he peed in there too, so I sprinted to Maggie's, unshowered, and begged for some toothpaste. She asked me why, and I had to make up an elaborate lie about plumbing problems.

But then she caught my lie because I was trying to explain to much and said, "Alright, cut the crap. What did Kyle do this time?"

Everyone in town knew the source of most my problems was my big brother, who I wouldn't be sure of being related to at all, had I inherited slightly different features. But the laws of nature demanded I be blue eyed, dark haired and tall, just like him.

I reluctantly admitted to Maggie the predicament I'd been dragged into. She said I could brush, but I had to find some place else to shower. "And you smell like a homeless man's rear end," she added.

My day didn't get much better, because I was collaborating with Sharon today.

Accepting my ill fate, I greeted her and asked where Doc was. Her response was, "You think that's funny, Ian? You think that's _funny_?"

Sharon's exactly the kind of girl who would say something like that. Of course, I had no idea what she meant, most people never did. But somehow I'd managed to offend her, which was nothing unusual. A week ago, I'd complimented her taste in hats and she scowled at me. There was no way to get her to be okay with me, so I accepted it and decided to get done with my shift.

I'm great at small talk, and I get along with everyone, but Sharon's much of an exception. When I was a teenager, I used to think her behaviour was some sort of defence mechanism, that she thought I was attractive or something, so she was mean to me.

As I grew older, I discovered the Stryders were naturally pessimistic and acted way too much on their instincts.

I didn't like what Doc was getting himself into, but he was happy with her. How anyone could find happiness near Sharon didn't make much sense to me, but I didn't question it.

Trevor's kids were another story. Jamie was a really lively kid – he came round for piano lessons all the time, so I'd made an acquaintance of him. I'd heard tons about his sister Melanie, but her mother moved her to LA, so I'd never actually known her. Judging from what Jamie was like, I didn't think she could be so bad.

And then there was Jeb, the oldest of the family, the looniest of the loonies with his loony hypotheses and theories about the world and that darned rifle. We were more scared for him, than scared of him, because one of these days he was really going to lose it.

The more time I spent with Maggie, the more I got to know about him, and the more convinced I was that he was absolutely kookoo.

"Ian," Maggie called, during my shift. "Does this mean anything to you?"

She handed today's newspaper to me and pointed at the headline.

"'_Man confesses to serial murder_'," I read out. "Should it?"

"My brother kept jibber jabbering on the phone, saying somethin' about statistics and numbers and the likes. Said it was 'suspicious'."

"Well, even it if is, I don't see how it's any of our business."

"Damn straight." Maggie threw the paper in the trash. "I keep telling him to keep his nose where it belongs. One o' these days, he's gettin' shot."

Maybe I could write my book about him. I mean, I read _To Kill A Mockingbird _and the most interesting part was about the town shut-ins, the Radleys – the Stryders had their own eccentricities. Stick an important message about social consequence in there, and I'm good to go.

I decided that having a look around town was worth a shot. Maybe, just maybe, there was a lot more to it than I knew. I kept my ears open the next few days, absorbing all kinds of irrelevant information about the people around me. It wasn't very useful or inspiring, but heck, it was entertaining.

It was when I was mowing Gladys's lawn, when I got actual interesting information.

Her house was near the construction site, which I was looking at. The last time I saw it, it was mostly wet cement and rubble. "It's great isn't?" she said. I hadn't noticed her come up behind me.

"What is?"

"Don't you know?" she asked. "We have new neighbours."

"You mean people are actually moving _into _this godforsaken town?"

"Apparently. I think it's nice – we needed some new faces. Young people to change things around."

"Young people?"

"Oh, yes." she nodded. "It's mostly an isolated place for underprivileged kids, I hear. Kind of like a hostel – or an orphanage, you could say. I hear the woman who owns it takes in kids all the time."

Our town? We _never _had newcomers. Never. Ever. Nobody built anything. Nobody changed anything. This place was like an ageing painting. The colour, the happiness, the livelihood – everything just kept fading with time. Everything else managed to stay the same.

But the more I listened, it felt like things would never be the same. Guy Stryder, Jeb and Maggie's older brother, died in a car crash somewhere so commonplace, even Jeb couldn't disagree it was nothing more than an unfortunate accident and bad timing. After a few weeks, word was that the other two estranged Stryders were moving back into town – Melanie's mother decided it was time for her to get to know her crazy family. She was coming around for summer break in a week to attend Guy's funeral. The whole town knew it and looked forward to it.

Because she was from a big city, there was a different kind of "intrigue" to her. Some thought it would hurt the town's clean reputation. But regardless, there was still that excitement of seeing a new addition, an outsider, adjusting to our small town values.

So when the day came, Guy Stryder's funeral was huge deal. The amount of people who attended to mourn over his death were very little compared to the large number young men around hoping to offer the mysterious Melanie they'd heard about their whole life a shoulder to cry on. I was there too, because Maggie said they needed someone to dig the grave, and since she knew about my money situation, she offered it to me.

This was where I would officially meet the town heartthrob I'd heard so much about – he went to school with my brother, so we'd only exchanged short glances at each other. He knew my name, and I knew his, but we never really _knew _each other.

His financial situation wasn't much better than mine, so he was the other guy who helped me get the job done. He didn't talk much, but when he did, he didn't seem like a such a bad guy. And up close, he really wasn't that pretty. He just had a better hair cut and nicer skin because of all the laborious work he had to – grave digging had been a one time thing for me, but this was apparently one of his regular jobs.

When the actual funeral had started, we were very much uncomfortable with the sadness around us, because we really couldn't identify with them. So we struck up a conversation.

"You here to get a good look at the Stryder girl too?" he asked. His voice startled me. So far we'd only silently communicated with our eyes.

He must have noticed I was looking around for the sign of a new face, but I saw none. "Nah. I'm mostly here because I gotta eat, man."

"Gotta be the first time I heard that – I don't see no one around who volunteers for this kind of thing for money."

"Someone asked for a favour, and I said, 'Yeah, why not? Wouldn't hurt'. Might have a look at that Stryder chick while I'm at it. See what the fuss is all about."

"Seem a bit overrated to you, don't it?"

"It did, at first. But I've been subjected to thank kind of fuss, myself. So I understand it."

Jared turned to look at me and saw me in a completely different light. "You're Kyle's baby brother aren't you? Ian is it? Should have figured from that limp."

"And you're Jared, the enigmatic ladykiller, the man who had the balls to punch my brother."

"Sorry about that," he apologized.

"You don't have to pretend." I said. "Nobody's ever been sorry for hitting Kyle."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Damn. Ian O'Shea. Yale University. Soccer Scholarship. Never thought I'd actually be standing next to you. Figured you'd be too much of a bigshot already."

I pursed my lips into a tight line. "And with all that I had going for me I still..."

I never got the end of that sentence because the eulogy which was going on in the background had now stopped. I looked at the crowd, and heads were turning. There was muttering going on, and people didn't seem too happy. The guys though, weren't disappointed, and the nodded approvingly, which of course could mean only one thing.

A girl rushed into the crowd, faster than I'd seen any girl ever rush. Her shoes were in her hand, her hair was all over the place, and she kept yelling repeated apologies.

When the crowd didn't move, she shoved her way in.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, I am so sorry – ouch! I am so, _so _sorry."

There were glares everywhere while I sat back and enjoyed the catastrophe.

"What an entrance." I admired.

Jared got his shovel ready, and scowled. "What a _diva_."

* * *

**A/N**: NO MELANIE IS NOT A LOVE INTEREST FOR IAN. Just so we're clear. But she's important.

Also, Yale University doesn't offer athletic scholarships. Don't get false hopes from a work of fiction.


	3. Odd Jobs

CHAPTER 3  
**ODD JOBS**

"Sorry I'm late, everyone" she apologized. She stood in front of the coffin, struggling to put her shoes on. When she did, she looked quite poised. "Sorry I'm late, Uncle Guy. I know you I don't know you very well, but I wish I did. I really, really, wish I did."

Her face seemed to contain genuine sadness. The crowd was in awe of her, because of the sincerity of her expressions. And the men were drooling.

"Bullshit," Jared snapped.

I didn't think it was. Melanie continued. "I guess I don't have much to give other than my worthless apologies. I'm a bad niece, but you must have been a great Uncle. If only I'd given you the chance."

She unzipped her bag and produced a small, yellow rose and laid on his chest.

People had a lot to say about that incident. Some people thought she was just the sweetest thing. Others found her a nuisance. The men thought of nothing other than her legs.

"Is she hot?" Kyle asked, when I got back home.

"What do you care?"

He shrugged. "Well, you clearly haven't gotten laid in a while, so, obviously, I care."

"Really, Kyle? Do you really wanna go there?"

"Ian, you're crabby all the time. We gotta do something about that."

"And somehow sex is the answer?"

"Well, duh." He took a swig from his bottle. "You clearly haven't recovered from the Ellen thing."

A bad memory threatened to attack me.

"Shut up, Kyle. Just, _shut up_. Don't you dare bring that up."

"I'm just sayin', bro. The dick wants what the dick wants." I started retreating into my bedroom. "So, you gonna bang her or what?"

"No, you sick pervert." I stopped in the middle of the staircase and started sniffing. "What's that smell?"

Kyle took a long whiff. "It's you."

"How come you don't smell as bad as I do?"

"Because I can shower in my own piss."

"For the love of God, will you _clean that up_?"

He didn't. And I went to work, still smelling like crap. I tried to hide it with deodorant, but that made things worse. My nose stung from the strong scent. What's worse, I was working at Heath's Diner and his wife Jules freaked at every little thing.

"What the hell is that smell?" She shrieked. She was a real shrieker. "Is something dying in my diner?"

"I haven't showered in a while." I admitted. "Sorry, Jules. Pipe's gone haywire at my house."

"You're scaring away the customers. Get your shit together, shitface."

She had a real way with words, too.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Fucking 'yeah, yeah' me one more time and you're fired."

I saw my reflection on a puddle and I was beginning to look like a caveman. I tried to get access to the showers at the pool, but I needed membership and I didn't have any money. Finally, I begged Aaron and Brandt and they said it was fine.

When I was done, I had every intention of complaining about his shampoo brand, but I started picking up on suspicious conversation. I stopped and eavesdropped because I heard my brother's name.

"We should take Kyle," Brandt said. "He's good at this stuff, right?"

"Naw, he's pretty careless." Aaron replied. "He's good at brawls. Not this. He acts on every stupid idea he has."

"Ian, then?"

"Thinks too much."

That sounded a lot like me.

"Both of them? They balance each other out."

"Maybe. But, Ian's too much of a goodie-goodie."

Hey! I can be badass when I want to be.

"He needs the money. He'll say yes."

That was true, but I had a feeling I wouldn't like what they had to say.

I made sure they could hear my footsteps as I approached them. I had to keep it casual.

"Thanks, guys," I said. They were staring at me. "Really needed that."

"No problem, man." Aaron replied. Brandt chewed on his lip, not sure if he should talk.

"What?" I asked, once the silence became unbearable. "Have you guys got anything you want to say to me?"

"Nope," they chorused.

I didn't give much thought into it. Not for a while anyway. I had work at Maggie's and now with the increasing number of kids in her class, I had more to do. She insisted I help out with some of the theory stuff, since I played guitar and knew a little something about music. I said I'd think about it, but I had more pressing matters to deal with.

Ellen came around to Maggie's to head out for a girls' night with Sharon. She glanced my way while walking in, and an embarrassing memory flickered beneath my eyes. The first few days around, I was still doing chores for Maggie and Ellen happened to take an interest in me. I wasn't really interested, but she asked me out, so I didn't have the heart to tell her no. We headed to the bar and things got a little... weird.

I don't know how or why, but an hour later Ellen was shoving me against the backdoor of the bar and literally throwing herself on me. I liked her, but I sure as hell didn't want her tongue down my throat. I was sweaty, tired, and really not in the mood for it. But, heck, I'd make out with her if it meant she wouldn't have to feel rejected. At the time, I knew what that felt like.

But things got_ really_ weird when she pushed me into and alley and started undoing my pants.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I huffed. She still chose to kiss me aggressively. In fact, it turned her on further. When I turned my face away, she moved on to my neck and kept moving further down until her hands reached down to somewhere unspeakable. "Ellen. Ellen! _Ellen!_"

"Ian!" she responded in delight. She was groping me in places I liked to keep private.

I stiffened. "Ellen." I warned. She began stripping, right there, in the alley. "No, no, no, no, no."

"What?" She asked through her manic kissing. Her lips moved on mine when she spoke.

"I can't do this."

She must have thought I was kidding. "Do you like it kinkier?" She just kept grabbing me in places I didn't want to be grabbed. When she saw that I was uncomfortable, she finally looked concerned. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No it's – you're great." _What the hell am I saying? _"I'm just not... I can't."

"Well... what's that supposed to mean? Do you have a girlfriend or..."

"No, no it's really not that."

She looked dejected and heartbroken. "Then what is it?" She sounded more angry than broken, right now. "Were you leading me on?"

"I wasn't. Well, I might have but I didn't mean to – you're nice and everything." I couldn't find a way to explain it. Everytime I tried to reject her, I kept being nice to her. If I really wanted her away, I would have to go extreme lengths. "You kiss weird."

She punched me.

And everyone knew because I came into the bar with a bloody nose. She also told Sharon, and Sharon told Lily, and Lily told Heidi, and Heidi told Paige, and Paige told Andy, and it literally kept spreading.

Eventually, Kyle caught up to the story.

I didn't hear the end of it.

"You told her _she kissed weird_?"

"I couldn't think of anything better."

"Let me get this straight – she was out there, trying to blow you, right in the alley, and you told her she kissed weird?"

"I think I just said that."

Doc shook his head. "Yep, that's depression."

"Yeah, right." I was in the stage of denial back then.

"You've lost your sex drive." Doc pointed out.

"Have not."

"You said no to a hot girl getting it on with you in a public place." Kyle countered. "That's like every man's sexual fantasy. You don't just say _you can't_."

"Well, maybe I didn't want to take advantage of her."

"Why didn't you tell her that?" Doc asked.

"It didn't... occur to me."

I guess it was more than a _little _weird. I never got hit for not wanting to have sex with someone.

Anyway, she had a boyfriend named Rob now, and they had all the raunchy sex she wanted.

We never spoke again and I didn't really care.

But I'd realized something important.

I _had _lost my libido.

"Oi, Ian," Maggie's voice pulled me out of the memory. "You've been standing with a _That's So Raven _on ya face for five minutes. Get your behind to work."

I complied, and sat down in the table with a calculator in hand. Some of the new neighbours had already piled in, and Maggie had _so freaking many _transactions. It hurt my head. There were new kids coming and going in here all the time, and I thought, good for Maggie.

Sucks for me. I'd be the one counting all their money.

Bored and exhausted, I started drifting into the rhythm of the music coming from the piano room. Whoever that was, _damn _they were good. Really good. I didn't recognize the tune, so it must have been something original. I could hear Maggie's students all the time, but most of them were mediocre, playing a bit of Beethoeven or Mozart here and there.

I'd become accustomed to the same, mundane tunes she taught her kids, so this stood out.

Maggie came out of the room, just as mesmerized as I. She gave me a look as if to say, _can you believe this_? Walking towards me, she shook her head, near tears.

"You know what that sound is, Ian?" Maggie said, smiling inexorably. "That is the sound of money falling onto my lap."

I chuckled. "And how is that?"

"You won't believe this," she started. "The kid's got an audition at Juilliard and they're payin' me _a grand _to supervise."

"A grand? _That _much?"

"I ain't complaining."

"You have any idea why?"

"All I know is, the kid's not like everyone else."

"What do you mean? Is he-"

"She," Maggie corrected. "She's one of them _special _kids."

In our town, it was tabooed to call anyone who was... different, the actual word for it.

"What's she got? Deaf like Mozart?"

"I'm thinking she's a mute. Hasn't spoken a word since she got here."

Interesting. We had a prodigy in our hands. "How old is she? Six? Seven?"

"Hardly. Her form said she just turned seventeen." Maggie started looking through the stack of papers. "She's no plain Jane either – her parents gave her some sort of a hippie name. Come to think of it, none of these new kids have normal names."

I was beginning to get curious, so I reached out for one of the forms. But my phone rang seconds later, and the caller ID said it was Kyle. I ignored it and took one of the forms, but Kyle called _again_. I pushed the papers away and decided to have a good shout session with him.

"Thank God, I left you like a hundred missed calls the past hour."

I scowled, while Maggie kept looking through the forms. "Dammit, Kyle. You know better than to call me at work."

"This is important, bro."

"Can't it wait until I get home?"

"Dude, this is seriously important."

"Well, then get to the point."

Kyle took a deep breath. "Jeb's offering to pay us half a grand, each."

There were tons of things I found suspicious in that statement right there, but I was curious. "I'm listening."

"He's got a small job for us."

"Let me take a wild guess here – Aaron and Brandt told you?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

I covered the receiver to talk to Maggie. "Hey, Mags – mind if I finish the rest tomorrow?"

"Go right ahead, kid. Celebrate."

I spoke into the receiver. "I'll see you at home."

As I headed out the door, I briefly thought to myself what kind of a 'small job' was worth 500 bucks. I glanced over my shoulder one last time, feeling eyes on my back. The music had stopped. Maggie was busy rejoicing, and I could see the door of the piano room slightly ajar. All that was visible through it were a pair of grey eyes and a flash of blonde hair, and the next second, she was looking away.

Strange.

When I'd stepped outside, the music continued.

I found Aaron, Brandt and Kyle sat in a circle, discussing, once I was home.

"He'll do it," Brandt was saying.

"Wanna bet?" Aaron countered.

Kyle seemed frustrated with the both of them. "Just let the kid decide – don't pressure him or nothing. He'll do it."

I sneakily made my way into their small group. "I'm guessing I'm the subject of conversation, right now?"

"Ian!" Kyle hadn't been this excited to see since – well, never. He patted the spot on the floor next to him. "Come here, take a seat."

I sat down and looked around the group, waiting for them to start. They looked... nervous?

"So..." Brandt started, reluctantly. "About your money situation … we had a proposition."

"Just hear us out." Aaron cut in.

"Yeah," Kyle said. "Don't just say no before you give it a chance."

"Will you guys just cut to the chase already?"

Brandt took a deep breath. "Jeb's planning a robbery."

_A robbery._

I was expecting something more along the lines of kidnap or murder, but a robbery didn't seem too bad. Sure, my record had been clean all my life, but everybody had to give in at some point.

"I'll do it." The things I do for money. _Sigh_.

All of them looked surprised. "You're sure?" Aaron asked.

"Yeah."

Kyle narrowed his eyes at me. "And you're not going to pussy out at the last minute?"

"No, I'm not gonna _pussy out_." I was well aware that it would be dangerous – but I was wondering about one thing. "So what are we stealing? Diamonds? Gold? Money?"

* * *

**A/N**: Long, tedious chapter, this one. Full of details that aren't relevant _as of now_. But hey - keep a look out. I'm not just filling up empty spaces. _Hint hint_.

And if anyone's curious about the music, here's the link. Sorry about the spaces, the website can be a bitch sometimes. Links disappear.

**johnnyripper . bandcamp track / on-the-moon**

**(Or just search up "on the moon" by johnny_ripper.)**


	4. A Bad Suggestion

CHAPTER 4  
**A BAD SUGGESTION**

_Crates. _We were going to steal a bunch of _crates._

I could already feel the danger, the peril. Yep, nothing more badass than stealing a bunch of boxes.

Aaron had texted me a picture around the time I was at work. I recognized the familiar scenery, because I'd been looking at it a few days ago. It was the same construction site, the huge-ish block of apartments with some seriously "mean" looking boxes, which probably contained "harmful" equipment like couches and ironing boards, sitting in front of them.

It made no sense to me.

I mean, I get that stealing stuff is bad, but it didn't seem dangerous or even ethically questionable enough for me to "pussy out". I was stealing furniture. Wow. That would definitely buy me a life sentence.

There had to be a catch. They weren't telling me something. But, I was financially in no state to turn down any opportunities that would come my way. I decided if I thought about this too much – like I always did – I would eventually turn it down. And I was not going to say no to half a grand because I was paranoid.

The heist was scheduled to happen in a week's time. I didn't understand the timing, either, because the boxes had been lying around outside for a while, now. I could just pick them up in the day time when nobody was looking and drop it off at Jeb's.

But, the day I'd thought of that, I'd passed by the houses and saw the neighbours dragging them inside. I waved at a few them, and they were more than happy to return it.

Why the heck was I stealing from _them_?

They were a harmless bunch of people.

I had so many questions – but not enough balls to ask them to the Great Loony himself. I decided, that it would be a good idea to keep my eyes and ears open. Somebody, somewhere must have known something. Or had _something _to say about it.

And I was right.

That night I had a late shift at the bar, and I happened to run into someone I didn't expect.

Jared Howe's kind of known for keeping out of the whole partying scene, so I was surprised when he asked me for a Vodka on the rocks.

"Rough day?" I asked, for the sake of making small talk. I think it's part every bartender's job description.

"Yeah, you could say so. "He was sweating profusely, with dirt all over his clothes. "Make that a double." I handed him his drink.

It was gone before I could even hand him a coaster. His attention diverted to the small TV fixed in the corner of the ceiling, announcing yet another miraculous wave of turn-ins.

On the TV, a woman in a pink suit informed us that this was the seventeenth one this week. The trend had started out in Washington, and slowly started travelling south to Oregon, Nevada, Idaho, and slowly reaching the outskirts of Arizona.

"Ramone Dwyer, a man who confessed to the murder of seven women claimed he had found killing was not the answer to peace and spoke to CNN's Joshua Wickham, - who's joining us now, good evening to you, Josh."

Another man in a suit was now splitscreened next to her, and replied to her in a similar robotic manner. "Hey, good evening, Reyna – it was a fascinating interview, and Dwyer revealed some details about his search for peace and how he's tried to connect with his accomplices and shown them how to find their souls."

There was a picture of a man on the screen this time, a tough looking guy with shades and a buzz cut. He was ten times the size of Kyle with a mad man's face.

"Ramone Dwyer was a notorious murderer known for several felonies and accused numerous times of rape. Incarcerated a total of nine times for assault, Dwyer finally decided to publicly come clean and preach his ideals of peaceful living."

This time Dwyer himself started speaking. "I think what our species has come to is terrible, and decided I should be the change that I want to see. Murder is unacceptable to me, I'm ready to do penance for my mistakes. I am ready to see change, I'm ready for a new world, I'm ready-"

I switched channels before he could finish his crappy speech.

"I swear, it's like watching a soap opera these days." I shook my head, disappointed.

"You don't buy it," Jared commented.

"And you do?" I raised an eyebrow. "Come on, your bullshit detection senses must be tingling."

Jared chewed on his lip, considering. "Well, I didn't at first."

"What convinced you?"

"I have an Uncle Earl in Idaho," he told me, hesitantly. "He's confession number 12."

I was bemused by this news. "You serious?"

"I shit you not. He called me on Tuesday and said he wanted to show me 'the answer to peace'."

"How do you know he didn't just get paid handsomely to play the part?"

"Uncle Earl bought by the media? I don't think so. He hates their guts."

"... Weird," was all I could say. "What did you tell him, then?"

"Well, at first I wanted to hang up. But, then, I thought, why not get to the bottom of this?" Jared turned briefly to look at the commotion that was going on in the back, and lowered his voice to continue. "I had a long talk with him, saying I didn't have enough gas money and what not, and Uncle Earl said he'd _pay _for it. For the journey. Uncle Earl. Offering me money. In the end, I said, 'Who is this? Really.' and he panicked and hung up."

"Fuck." I cursed under my breath.

Jared reached for the drink I'd failed to pass to him. "Yeah."

"You think he was lobotomised by the media or something?" I asked.

"Could be. Either way, I don't think I wanna know."

I nodded in agreement. The truth would just creep us out further. Like, what if the government was literally brainwashing the entire country and starting with the bad guys? Knowing too much wouldn't help anyone. Just scare us.

I knew I wasn't interested in a continuation of the story, but I probably knew someone who was. "You know," I started. "You should be telling this kind of thing to Jeb."

Jared's attention turned back to crowd of dancing people, and we both eyed the drunken Melanie dancing her booty off with a bottle of liquor in her hand, grinding herself against one of the guys.

Jared shook his head and turned back to me. "Yeah, I don't think I'm interested in involving myself with the Stryders."

"He's offering me half a grand to steal a bunch of boxes."

Now, he was interested. "Aren't you the least bit curious as to what's inside them?"

I shrugged. "Probably just some furniture. I'd understand if he was paranoid about the neighbours."

"Ian, we're talking half a grand here. That may not be huge money, but it's too much for a bunch of _boxes_."

"You're right," I nodded. "But, I just want my money, dude. I think I can contain my curiosity if it means I'm _this_ much closer to going back to school."

It took me an entire month to make 500 dollars. There was no way I was passing this up.

Moinutes later when Jared and I were exchanging numbers, we heard the sound of something breaking, and pieces of glass seemed to disperse all around the dance floor. The dancing stopped abruptly, and someone from the crowd yelled, "Turn the music off!" and I quickly punched the system, turning off the bad rapping. Jared and I pushed our way in, to see what everybody was circling around. My eyes flitted around the floor, realizing the broken glass came from the bottle Melanie was holding.

She lay there, unconscious and crumpled on the floor.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Jared shouted. "Do something!"

When everyone remained fixated in their positions, he got on his knees himself and picked her up. As the person in charge, I decided I had the authority to take some sort of action.

"Alright, everybody out!" I ordered. "We're closed! Do you hear me? Closed! Out! Shoo!"

It took a while to get everybody out of the building, but I managed fine while Jared just stood there with an unconscious Melanie in his arms, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

Once I'd locked the building, I helped Jared get Melanie in the back seat and rode shotgun. When we were up in the driveway, though, we had very little idea as to how we should be handling the situation.

"The one time I decide to go out to town..." Jared kept muttering to himself.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked. "I think I know how to get to Trev's."

"Nuh-uh," Jared disagreed, shaking his head. "I know Trevor. If I show up on his doorstep at 1AM with his unconscious daughter, he's definitely throwing things at me."

"What are you suggesting? That we just dump her on the road?"

His face said he wanted to, but his mouth said something else. "I guess, we could... take her to my place."

"I thought you didn't want to involve yourself with the Stryders?"

"Well, looks there isn't much choice, is there?!" he sounded mad. "Or do you want to take her to your place?"

"I would," I told him. "But given the present conditions of the house, I don't think it's advisable to put her in that environment without a biohazard suit."

"Well, you've survived."

"That's because I've become tolerant to Kyle's toxic fumes."

"Ugh," he grunted. "I don't even know where I'm driving!"

While Jared banged his fists on the steering wheel, I thought of a different solution. "Well, here's an idea – why don't we drive her to Jeb's place?"

"What gave you that stupid idea?"

"Think about it," I said. "Jeb's not much of a family man. He lives in the same town and never calls his sister unless he has some sort of a crazy hypothesis. He's too detached to have us arrested."

"Given that logic is true – what makes you think he'll take Melanie in?"

He had a point there. "It's still worth a shot."

It wasn't hard finding our way to his home. Everybody knew where he lived. He had the biggest house on the street and the tall, withering dead trees that surrounded his home were hard to miss. In halloween, we'd dare each other to go trick or treating there. There was a story about a Crowe Wesselman who rang his doorbell and disappeared forever.

The two of us decided we would share Melanie's weight – not that she was heavy, he just felt weird carrying her all by himself.

"This place gives me the creeps," I said, and pressed on the doorbell. For three long minutes, we stood there, waiting for something to happen.

When nothing did, Jared said, "Guess he's not home."

"Well, we tried."

"What do you mean 'tried'? We're getting her in there. Come on, lets try the back door."

"I don't know... I just want to get out of here."

"You brought me here, O'Shea. You opened this door, and you're walking through it."

Jared started lugging her on his own, and I just made a small high pitched noise of regret. Ugh, it was so cold.

I wasn't going to stand there next to to the dead trees, so I followed Jared unwillingly.

"Jared, I think we should leave." I said, rubbing my arms for warmth.

"Stop whining, Ian."

"I'm not _whining_. I making a suggestion."

"Well, your prior suggestion overrules your current suggestion, so shut up."

"Jeez, stop being such a pre-pubescent girl about it."

"I'm being a pre-pubescent girl?_ I _am?_"_

"Well, you're being very bossy and disagreeable," I replied. "And you voice is squeaky and annoying," I added, even though it was very untrue.

"Is that your definition of a pre-pubescent girl? Bossy and disagreeable? And my voice is not 'squeaky'."

"Is too-"

"Shut up," Jared cut in.

"No, _you _shut up."

"Seriously, Ian, shut up," Jared ordered. "I hear something."

_Click click_.  
It came from behind us.

"Ain't nobody gonna kill me in in my own house," a deep, authoritative voice threatened. I felt the cold touch of metal on the back of my neck and squealed.

"Who's the pre-pubescent girl now?" Jared whispered.


End file.
